


Avocado Toast

by ManhattanProject



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Meet-Cute, boys will be oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 09:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11354718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManhattanProject/pseuds/ManhattanProject
Summary: “You won’t tell anyone, right?”“That you write romantic poetry or that you’re gay?\In which Kent is oblivious as usual.





	Avocado Toast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IprotectKennyP (dauntperplexity)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dauntperplexity/gifts).



> Well here we are! This was an exercise in essentially original character creation but we made it and I hope you enjoy!

Kent “Party Boy” Parson hates Vegas, which is why he's spending three weeks of the off-season traveling through New England and doing hipster things like poetry readings, wine tastings, and eating avocado toast (“This is why you don't own your apartment.”). He's currently sitting in a Boston café, chai latte half empty in front of him as he toys with the flier in his hand. The flier is for an open mic poetry night at another local coffee shop, and Kent thinks to himself “am I really gonna be that hipster fuck?”

Eventually he decides that yes, he's going to be that hipster fuck and returns his now empty mug to the counter so he can head back to his hotel and change into something that doesn't have a coffee stain on it. He gets roped into a long phone call with his ma on the phone (“Ay de mí, mijo, you never talk to me anymore!”) and ends up arriving after the event has started. There isn’t currently anybody on stage so Kent orders a coffee and finds a seat towards the edge of the shop. As he turns his phone to silent someone is shuffling around on stage, and when Kent looks up he nearly falls out of his chair at the sight. He questions for a second if he has his glasses on (he does) as he stares at none other than the Falcs’ goalie, Snowy.

Kent swears internally as the small commotion draws Snowy’s attention and freezes as they lock eyes. It feels like forever but it’s really only a second before Snowy breaks eye contact and clears his throat, stepping a little closer to the mic. Kent wants to run (who wouldn’t when the person they have a vague crush on is about to read poetry) but he stays and tries to melt into his seat instead.

“Ah, hello. This is called “Red Wine”,” Snowy says, accent heavy as the din of the shop quiets down to listen. He starts into his poem and Kent’s no critic, but he’s pretty sure it’s about some kind of unrequited crush, and Kent is well and truly regretting not leaving.

The poem is in second-person until the end, when Kent nearly falls out of his chair for the second time that evening, because Snowy doesn’t say “her”, he says “him”, and Kent claps politely along with everyone else as he thinks “Snowy’s gay?” and tries not to short-circuit his brain.

“Mind if I join you?” It’s Snowy a few minutes later, sliding into the other chair at Kent’s table.

“Hey, Snowy,” Kent says. “That was pretty good, man.” He feels awkward. Him and Snowy are friends, but more in the “get some beers together after they play and maybe meet up in the off-season once or twice” way and less in the “come out to me accidentally via a gay crush slam poem” way. It doesn’t help that Snowy looks like he’s glowing right now and his hair is a little bit of a mess and his bottom lip is red from where he keeps chewing at it, and Kent downs the rest of the coffee in one go in a dismal attempt to distract himself.

“Thanks,” Snowy says with a smile, but Kent feels like he’s staring straight into his soul. “You won’t tell anyone, right?”

“That you write romantic poetry or that you’re gay?” Kent says. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about either.”

“Thanks,” Snowy chuckles, deep and throaty. Kent wants to die.

“I am too, you know,” he says after a minute. “Gay, I mean. I’m not really a poetry person.”

“Why are you here then?” Snowy asks. “The whole thing is kind of, well, poetry.”

“Saw the flier in another coffee shop and thought ‘What the fuck, might as well.’”

“That, ah, definitely sounds like you,” Snowy says, and Kent shrugs. They’re silent for a little while before Snowy clears his throat and says, “I know you said you’re not a poetry person, but what did you really think?”

“I don’t know anything about poetry, but it was good. Sounds like you got a big crush on someone,” Kent says, adding a wink in to tease the other man, and maybe hide his disappointment.

Snowy flushes. “You couldn’t tell?”

“Tell what?”

“Ach du grüne Neune, it’s about you, Parse.”

Kent stares. Kent blinks. Kent says, “Oh,” and makes Snowy laugh.

“Yes, ‘Oh’. I can’t believe you didn’t realize the mystery poem person was you,” Snowy says.

“I was going through the fucking seven stages of grief while you read a poem about a crush I thought wasn’t me,” Kent says, and then freezes.

“You know, Jack said it was weird to like someone you only saw a few times a year, but I think he was wrong,” Snowy says, voice soft.

“Jack knows?”

“Whole team knows. They don’t care.”

“You’re a braver man than I am, Snowy,” Kent says. “For more reasons than one.”

“You think? Since I’m the braver man I guess I’ll ask you if you want to grab something to eat with me.”

“You asking me on a date, Snowy?”

“Are you accepting, Parse?” Kent nods and Snowy stands up, huge grin on his face. “Well I guess the answer is yes, then.”

Snowy takes him to an old diner a few blocks away (“They have the best malts in the whole country, seriously.”) and they eat their meal as they talk and it’s less awkward than Kent expected. They talk about their families, hockey, the Real Housewives because Kent isn’t the only one with a guilty pleasure, and eventually they talk about themselves.

“So, Kent,” Snowy starts, stirring his straw in his mostly melted malt. “You like me in a ‘want to fuck me’ way, or in a ‘want to date me’ way?”

“Can I say both? Because it’s definitely both.”

“Yeah? How long are you gonna be in Boston?”

“How long can you convince me to stay?”

“What do you say we go back to my apartment and figure it out from there?” Snowy says, pushing his glass to the side and giving Kent a look that all but has Kent launching himself across the table.

“Are you propositioning me?” Kent asks, face flushing under Snowy’s gaze. He has enough brain function left to pretend to look scandalized and the other man laughs.

Snowy looks around quickly before he leans across the table and says, voice low, “I don’t know, you tell me,” and pulls Kent in for a kiss that leaves him unable to say anything besides “Fuck, yeah, let’s go.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> "Ay de mí, mijo": (roughly) "woe is me, son"  
> "Ach du grüne Neune": (figuratively) "good grief"


End file.
